


the rebel prince (my master)

by spock



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, M/M, Reverse Chronology, Stockholm Syndrome, Touch Deprivation, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: Everyone is the hero of their own story; Vortigern has always been a master storyteller.





	the rebel prince (my master)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



 

 

IV

 

The caverns that lay beneath the castle have always been cold, fathomless places where time seemed to be as nebulous as the waters that flooded the majority of the caves. Vortigern and he lost so many hours of their youth there, exploring, inventing games that no other would bear witness to, nor learn to play.

They had spent Vortigern's last night there, angering their father and worrying their mother. Uther had gotten it in his mind that perhaps the caves truly were a space exempt to time, and their staying there would give indefinite pause to Vortigern's impending departure, sparing him from playing pawn to their father's whims — Vortigern a living, breathing, beacon of peace so that Mordred and the mages would continue to work alongside their kingdom.

The caves had never been lonely then.

They were lonely now.

At the beginning of his exile, Vortigern rarely had time to visit him. It would often be weeks before he could escape down to see his brother. Vortigern had told him once that he had enchanted the door so that none but he would notice its existence, a safety measure to ensure no other would discover Uther alive, and so close to the throne that was rightly his. Uther's only worldly contact came from his interactions with his brother — despite the reality of Uther's situation, the circumstances surrounding it all, Uther had wished that Vortigern would risk seeing him more often.

And then, as if by magic — after years long since come and gone, back when they were young men and Vortigern had dutifully but unsuccessfully tried to tutor Uther in such matters that might now have finally begun bearing fruit, as if in deference to Uther's situation — Vortigern's visits had begun to have less and less time separating their occurrences.

The past year had seen Uther recieving his brother with increasing frequency. As of late, more than a decade since Uther had been hidden away to the cave beneath a castle that was no longer his, Uther is gifted, without fail, the sight and sound of Vortigern's heavy steps thundering down the staircase a few times each day.

On this day, Uther has yet to cross paths with him. It is all that he can do to live for the moments that his brother has time to grant to him, and so Uther waits.

  

III

 

"The official search has yielded nothing," Vortigern says. His back is to Uther, as if unable to meet Uther's eyes.

Uther moves to stand from his bed, and then thinks the better of it, resettling into the mattress. There is already far too much nervous energy in the room with Vortigern pacing throughout it.

The only other place to sit and rest is a single chair now moved opposite of Uther's bed, and it becomes Vortigern's the moment he crosses the door that separates their lives. If Uther were to take it from it now it would leave Vortigern with nothing, and send a far more damning message besides, one that Uther does not wish to convey. "And what of the unofficial?" Uther asks in return.

"I do not know where Arthur is, brother." Vortigern snaps, and then he finally stills, body rigid and tense, shoulders rising to press against his ears, before he visibly forces himself to relax, the line of his body returning to its otherwise sleek, streamlined stasis. He turns to face Uther then. "I have a proposition, but you will not like it."

Uther laughs a strained, shaken exhalation that slithers out from his throat and settles mirthlessly between them once it passes from his lips. "Have I not given ample proof that I have learned from the hubris that plagued me in my past life? I have played dutiful servant to your propositions and ideas this far, brother, do not spare them from me now."

Vortigern smiles at him, face tinged with good humor despite the still-worried crease of his brow, and Uther echoes the expression, the sentiment. "Who could have known that _this_ is what it would take for you to finally heed my counsel."

It stings, but Uther keeps the pain from his face, not wanting to sour Vortigern's mood. He can still recall the moments before he set off to doing battle with Mordred. Vortigern had advised surrender, a move the devious mage king would gladly accept with no recourse, and Uther willfully refused to heed him nor his words any mind. In the end Vortigern had been right, and Uther had surrendered to a wrongful king all the same, even if it hadn't been the one he'd expected. Had he done so earlier, would he still have his family? Would he still have _Vortigern_? The thought of it plagues him always, save for the moments when Vortigern is with him, when Uther does his best to forget so that he might enjoy some small part of his life, such as it is.

Vortigern crosses the gap and settles down beside Uther on the mattress. He takes Uther's hand, gentle, and finally speaks his piece. "There is a spell that I can perform that would allow you to disown Arthur. For the purposes of our bloodline, it would be as if he were dead. There would be no cause to hunt him any longer, and he could live a long, full life wherever he may now be, free of this impending threat."

Uther follows the logic of his reasoning. "And then ownership of the sword would transfer to you."

"And then ownership of the sword would transfer to me."

The thought of it twists at Uther's insides, but if Vortigern is willing, then Uther can stomach it.

"Then it must be done."

 

 

II

 

Uther has woken to fresh rations awaiting him at the topmost step of his staircase every few days, the only thing that gives reassurance to the thought that his brother still yet lives after months of Uther seeing hide nor hair of him otherwise.

He wonders which of them is being punished: Uther, who can scarcely remember a voice other than his own, a voice that itself has already has begun to grow weak with disuse, unwilling as he is to succumb to the madness that threatens the corners of his waking mind by conversing with himself; Vortigern, who must be so inundated with duties that Uther knows all too well, not to mention what are sure to be external threats that occur so soon after a regime change, as Uther experienced himself when he took over for their father, with which are undoubtedly the cause of Vortigern being kept so busy that he cannot come to see his brother beyond the clandestine delivery of food as Uther sleeps. The true sting of it comes from this abandonment occuring on the heels of a week where Vortigern had managed to visit him thrice in such a span. Uther had thought that perhaps things were getting better, and now he is faced with the harsh reality that such a thing is far from the case.

When the door finally opens, after all this time, Uther's eyes snap to it instantly, eager to catch sight of his brother. But it is not his brother who stands at the threshold there.

It is the demon. The smoke and embers that shoulder around his visage prevent Uther from seeing her at first, but Uther catches sight of Catia, and his heart clenches.

Uther makes to call for her, to let her know that he is here. There is a spell that surrounds him and the furnishings of his room just as one was supposed to keep the door leading to this cavern hidden. Vortigern had done everything in his power to keep Uther's presences a secret, and Uther had agreed to such provisions readily, for Vortigern's sake, if not for his own, but he needs his niece to know that he is here, that she is not alone in this nightmare.

No sound breaks free from his throat in that moment, despite how desperately he tries. His stubbornness has doomed him and those he loved yet again.

The demon drags her down the incline of each step, his loud, echoing steps a cruel mimicry of Vortigern's gait, the universe punishing Uther yet again for having hoped so badly for someone to come through that door just moments earlier. What he would not give to be alone now.

Uther tries yet again to speak. Just as his lips part, as his throat contracts, words bubbling up between his lips to rest on his tongue, magic hits him like a wall, flinging him backward, his body flying through the air until it is stopped by the harsh, solid rock of the cave's wall.

  

●

  

  
•

  

  
·

  

Fingers gently cradling his cheeks, his jaw. His head lifted off the unforgiving floor of his cave and laid down to rest atop firm thighs. Despite being dazed as he is, Uther knows this touch.

His body begins to shake, emotions welling up inside of him. It's been so long since he has been touched. The brief meeting of their hands some unknown months prior hold no candle to this. He had not known that he needed more, but now he blindly forces his aching limbs to turn despite the tenderness of his head, rolling onto his side by sheer will alone so that his cheek presses into Vortigern's lap, his skin to the leather of Vortigern's leggings, the closest they have been in so long.

Cave water drips down onto his face, an irregular rhythm that brings him closer to consciousness more than even the firm grip his brother uses to cradle his head does. As he finally gathers the strength and coordination to open his eyes, he finds that it is Vortigern's tears that rain upon his face, falling from his cheeks down onto Uther's.

His eyes met Vortigern's, and his brother lets out a sob at the contact. "This is because of you," Vortigern says, voice thick with emotion. It comes back to Uther then: the demon, Catia. "Sacrifices must be made in order to keep a wrongful king on the throne as Uther yet lives." Vortigern adopts the tone of voice he uses to mock himself, and Uther knows that this is not the first time his brother has had to make this explanation, if only to himself. He realizes that Vortigern must have been the one to have done the research necessary to come up with such a solution — that he had to choose between his daughter and Uther.

Here Uther lies, head cradled in his brother's lap, bruised, yet alive all the same, even if most days such a fact seems up for debate. Today, however, it is undeniable.

He feels sick to the very depths of his soul. The choices his brother has had to make are unfathomable to him.

Yet that is not true, for when faced with the death of his wife and the chance at escaping to live with his son for a short time, before they were undoubtedly to be captured, Uther had abandoned Arthur to the fates of the tides and gambled once again at being the hero. Uther has made his own choices, and this is where they have led him.

Even in his grief, his brother is right. This is Uther's fault.

"I will give up my right," Uther says. "Kill me; free us both."

Vortigern looks at him aghast, face the embodiment of nonplussed betrayal. "I will not."

"Magic it from me then," Uther pleads. "Take it! There must be a way."

His brother dips his own head and kisses him, mouth slick with tears that then dampen Uther's. Uther's breath catches in his throat, body freezing at the contact. After a beat he pulls away, struggling to rise onto his knees, mirroring his brother on the floor. Standing, Uther is far taller, but sat on the ground like this they are of a height, their eyes level.

"Vortigern," he says, being sure to keep his voice gentle. "You make choices in grief that you would not otherwise."

His brother laughs a cruel, hollow thing. His hands came up to rake through his recently shorn hair, a look so different from how he had been when he served as prince to Uther, his eyes dropping from Uther's onto the stone beneath them. "Have you forgotten so readily, brother?" Vortigern asks, sounding well and truly tired, as weak as Uther felt. "Did we not share one another in our youth? In these very same caves?"

"That was but what boys do."

Raising his hands, Vortigern gestures about them. "I feel as helpless as a boy, now. You're all that I have left, Uther. Whatever trials you may face here, I promise you life above is much worse." He gives another laugh, though it is no longer hollow, instead it rings out as a sob. Vortigern is longer crying. Though for the first time his hand rises to wipe at his cheeks as if he still were. "And now I am all alone without anyone to care for me, save for you. Do not deny me this over propriety, brother. If you do not wish it, say as much. That is the only rebuke I will stomach."

Uther knows how Vortigern suffers for him, has always suffered. There is only one answer he can give in the face of it. "Then let us do what boys do."

 

 

I

 

"Uther!" Vortigern's heavy steps trample across the width of the dock. The demon turns, distracted by Vortigern's sudden appearance, and Uther uses the opportunity to rush to Arthur, hefting him inside of the boat. He checks for Igraine in the murkiness of the lake but sees nothing; even if by some mercy the spear hadn't pierced anything vital, the water has swallowed her. He does not allow himself to dwell on it, not now.

Vortigern's shouting again, a spell this time. "Lyft sy þe in bǽlwylm ac forhienan se wiðere!" Uther whips his head around, fearing the worst, that this behemoth may have taken more from him than just his wife, yet the spell seems to work, if just for now. The demon is engulfed in flames for a brief moment, the solid weight of his form disappearing into the smoke that already surrounded him, until that too disappears from view.

Uther says his brothers name in a whisper. He feels Arthur grab his shoulder, and it brings him back. "Is it dead? Is this over."

Finally reaching them, Vortigern falls to his knees. He isn't winded, doesn't seemed to have taken on damage at all at all. "I merely banished him for a moment, brother. He will return."

Uther nods. "We must leave then."

"If you run, they'll find you," Vortigern says. "Arthur's only hope is if he goes it alone, Uther, you know this. Live tonight so that you might see him again some other day."

He turns to look at his son, strokes a thumb over his cheek, and then pushes the boat away from the dock, setting him off to drift at sea. The fog eats up Uther's view of him far sooner than he would like. He squints, trying to catch sight of Arthur one last time before he turns away for good, looking at Vortigern again. "What is your plan, brother?"

They follow the edge of the beach to the outermost edges of the castle, and from there it's swimming beneath it, until they come to one of the caves they favored most as children, a place they know like the back of their hands, even now. Vortigern lifts himself out of the water and then turns to help Uther do the same.

Uther hadn't realized how tired he is, how drained, until his brother had offered help. Sitting on the ground, dripping puddles, it's all Uther can do to stay upright. "What now?"

Vortigern looks around them, muttering words to himself that Uther cannot discern. A bed appears, a table sat beside the bed, candles atop it that burn bright but seem to dip no wax despite the heat, a chair. "I will return," Vortigern says. "With news, once I have it."

He leaves, hours pass. It takes as much time for Uther to rise and rid himself of his clothes, collapsing onto the bed. He knows not how long he sleeps. There is food waiting at the foot of the steps when he wakes. He eats, relieves himself at the water's edge, and then sleeps more still.

The next time he wakes it is to Vortigern sitting beside his bed in the chair, watching him. He does not force Uther to voice the obvious question.

"A mage has deemed himself king. Some of your knights have fled successfully, the majority have been disposed of. I'm the only one left from the old court." He smiles, as if thinking on a joke, but he does not share it with Uther.

"How long is this to be my life?"

Vortigern doesn't answer, but that is answer enough. It seems as though they would wait this out for as long as they could, and strike when the opportunity presented itself. _If_.

 _A Mage king_ , his brother had said. Uther had played his hand at tackling this problem before, forced his brother to defer to his will and judgment in doing so, and this is where it has gotten them. Uther sees now that this time he will need to aid as player to Vortigern's own schemes if they are to have any hope of escaping this hell. His brother has earned that much, if not far more.

He rises on shaky arms and manages to place his feet on the floor. The way that Vortigern is sitting beside the bed has his knees between Uther's thighs.

Uther looks at Vortigern and sees a facet of his brother he has never borne witness to before. Vortigern seems strong, settled within himself, as if he's reached his full potential. Uther knows how it feels to rise to a challenge, to be given purpose, and thinks that this is the first time that Vortigern has been given the opportunity since he was tasked with being sent away so long ago. Uther had tried to keep him from that, back then, an older brother loathe to be parted from his beloved younger. Uther realizes for the first time that the feeling might not have been mutual, instead born from his own selfishness and greed.

His brother has blossomed despite the horrors of their situation. He has risen to the challenge and truly found himself. In that moment, with his realizations, Uther finds him magnificent.

Reaching out, Uther takes Vortigern into his arms and pulls him roughly into an embrace. Vortigern buries his face into Uther's hair, their cheeks pressed tightly together. Uther feels his brother's arms come up around him, locking solidly around his back.

"Brother." Vortigern speaks directly into his ear, his lips catching against Uther's skin. He tightens his grip around Uther's shoulders in such a way that Uther can feel it in his very bones.

"Brother," Uther echoes. "It is you who must lead us now."

He can feel Vortigern begin to smile against his skin, teeth catching the curve of Uther's jaw.

**Author's Note:**

> the spell Vortigern uses is stolen from [merlin](http://merlin.wikia.com/wiki/Spells)!


End file.
